Betulla (Eng version)
by kenjina
Summary: "He had always imagined his death and he knew it would have been in battle. He would have fallen as a soldier, in front of the walls of his beloved city, to defend with honor his people from the enemy armies that came like a shadow from the East. (...) But what honor could there be in him, after what he had done? (...) There was no honor in him. Only betrayal, shame, arrogance."


Hello out there! This is my very first long fanfiction in English – it's the translation from Italian of my own story. It takes time to translate everything, the chapters are really long, and I hope there won't be too many mistakes. If you find something (and I'm sure you will :D), please let me know. I want to improve my written English – and of course I want you to understand what I wrote! :D

Enjoy it,

Marta.

**01.**

_26 February 3019 T. A._

It was not the physical pain that caused him that deafening agony, nor the soothing knowledge that he was going to die in a few minutes. Dying meant to be free from the oppressive weight of a burden that he could not endure, and that now it was crushing, to let him finally free from the anguish and torment. He had always imagined his death and he knew it would have been in battle. He would have fallen as a soldier, in front of the walls of his beloved city, to defend with honor his people from the enemy armies that came like a shadow from the East. His death would have served to save the lands that had seen him grow, to give a possibility to the future generations to live a life away from the darkness and fears.

But what honor could there be in him, after what he had done? He had tarnished his name, walked on his father's and the whole family. There was no honor in him. Only betrayal, shame, arrogance.

He would have died there, against that anonymous tree, away from his land that he had served for forty long years with love, pride and strength. No one would have told the story of Boromir the Traitor, except to curse him beyond death, because the ruin of Middle Earth was on his weary shoulders and the hope that his relatives could see the light of dawn with no more terror and blood, was fading by the minute.

He closed his eyes, Boromir. And he thought back to his City of Stone, which had always seemed like an ancient and proud white queen, standing and proud in front of the Shadow grow, inflexible despite countless falls, and yet good with anyone who was a friend in search of the comfort of a familiar place. He wanted to see the magnificence of Minas Tirith when his rightful King had risen on the throne that had been empty for too long, and would have served as the first of its allies, as a brother and friend; he would have wanted to show Merry and Pippin the places of his childhood and share with them the joys and sorrows that his town had given him; he wanted to embrace his beloved brother and suffer the wrath of his stern father, when he would have told him of his failure.

Yet, now his only hope was that he would go away in a hurry, that none of his friends found him still conscious, not to bear their looks of scorn and hatred. The only regret was that he could not save the Hobbits. He had tried to defend them, in that last desperate act, because he was really fond of those little ones with the strong soul of a wise old man. He had tried, but he failed once again. He had asked for help playing for three times the Horn of Gondor, yet no one had come. And now the terrible clamor of the Uruk-hai had moved away as it had come, and had left the two little ones in the hands of who knows what torment Saruman would have inflicted for his amusement.

The unpleasant sensation of burning eyes from tears made him sob and a trickle of blood wet his lips and chin. Eyes narrowed and focused on the sound of the silver trumpets which marked the beginning of a battle, or those celebrating the victory. He saw the banner of Gondor waving crazy on the cool west wind, when he stuck the wood of the flag between the stones of a reclaimed Osgiliath and he seemed to be able to count the little precious gems that painted the White Tree. Boromir smiled. He heard the cries of his men who hailed his name with pride and joy that filled his heart with happiness. He did not regret a single moment of his life, but he wanted to be stronger in the spirit rather than physically, to overcome the arduous moment that had been thrown in its path.

He tried to take a deep breath, but a sharp pain in his punctured lung made him moan through clenched teeth. If only they would have given him a rest, finally.

He heard the soft rustle of footsteps on the dry leaves of that natural floor and he thought it was Legolas, coming silent to see his end. So he feared that Aragorn was with him too, and that he felt his words of condemnation before leaving Middle-Earth. Yet no voice spoke to him with resentment nor anyone put an end to his sufferings, as he had hoped unconsciously. He felt a hand on his forehead and the other on his chest, moving the impregnated fabric of his own blood to check perhaps the extent of the injuries. His voice was lower than a hiss for the absence of breath and strength.

«Aragorn…»

But the man did not answer him. He was not so sure that it was him. He barely opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blurred figure bent over his body. The blood he had lost was clouding his view, as well as causing annoying dizziness, despite having his back resting against the tree.

The sound of heavier footsteps and of more people came muffled to his ears and he felt that someone was calling his name.

«Boromir!»

Aragorn came running, followed by Legolas and Gimli, who stopped a few feet away, saddened and dismayed by the sight of the valiant soldier of Gondor dying. The Ranger leaned on his partner and friend, gray eyes bright with tears. It was only then that he realized about the person who has arrived before him, and in his look his friends saw surprise, sadness and anger.

«Aragorn... I'm sorry. »

The Dúnadan turned his attention again to the dying man and shook his head. «Do not waste your energy on a few sorry, Boromir. Keep them until your body permits. »

Boromir shook his head, coughing up blood. «For what am I supposed to preserve energies? They took the little ones... Frodo, where is Frodo? »

«I let him to go... Sam is with him.»

The hands of Aragorn were blocked by the Man of Gondor, in a sudden gesture and incredibly strong for the conditions in which he was.

«Let me die. I do not deserve to live. I tried to take him the Ring, Aragorn... I betrayed the Fellowship, I have betrayed you all. Minas Tirith will fall and the Shadow will invade our land. I paid for my mistake. I do not deserve life, nor your mercy.»

«And you will not have my pity, but only the love I feel for a friend.»

«A friend...»

Boromir coughed again, the shadow of a smile on his lips smeared with blood; the stranger hooded Man kept his hands still, while he did an eloquent gesture with his head, indicating the arrows that still tortured that body.

«I would have followed you anywhere, my brother.» He whispered. «I would have followed you as a friend... and servant, my King.»

Tears ran down the face of Aragorn, but he remained cool and calm when he took out one of the arrows, deaf to the cry of pain and frustration of the wounded. Boromir moaned and tried with the few remaining forces to escape the torture. Why would not just let him die? He could not bear the weight of those anxieties that would not have left until the end of his days, nor the compassion of those he had betrayed.

He just wanted to rest.

«The Hobbit, Aragorn. Save them, I beg you. Do not waste your time here.»

The Ranger, aided by the stranger, dropped the other arrows and removed his tunic and chainmail from his friend. He looked the hooded and he spoke with a little of his grace. «Do you have _athelas_ leaves with you?»

He nodded, taking a bag hanging on the belt that held his cloak. «I always carry it with me, Aragorn.»

Legolas and Gimli were surprised to hear that voice as thin as the one of a woman. Because they realized that it was a woman only when the hood slipped over her shoulders and they could see her face, disfigured between four deep scars. However they did not understand who she was, or why Aragorn seemed so angry with her.

«Aragorn, promise me you will save the little ones...»

Strider looked back at his friend, while she was preparing the medicine and the bandages. He took the hands of his friend and pressed them. Boromir felt heat from his comforting touch.

«I swear on the blood of Elendil and Isildur that flows through my veins that I will find Merry and Pippin. I will not let your sacrifice be in vain, nor that our friends suffer the most atrocious tortures. And I swear to you, my brother, that I will not let Minas Tirith fall, nor our people die with it. You will live to see the glory of Gondor and you will be by my side when I will cross the doors of the White City to take the throne that waits for me.»

Boromir returned the grip of his companion and he was relieved to hear the sound of that oath and the scent of the therapeutic leaves that intoxicated his senses. «Go, then. They will already be gone.»

The knowledge that he should have run faster than the Uruk-hai to save the Hobbits gave him the strength to get up, but Aragorn could not move immediately towards Legolas and Gimli. He watched the Man destroyed by physical and spiritual pain, and he knew that he could not leave him alone in his torment. The Shadow had almost caught him once and he was not sure he was completely safe, even once he had recovered from the wounds of the body.

But Boromir was not alone, at least not completely. He looked at the woman with resentment and a lump closed his throat for an old memory that seemed far away as the time of his happiness. Looking at her he wondered if he could trust her and let his friend in her hands. Then he agreed that he could not do otherwise. «Take care of him while I am away. If something were to happen because of you, I promise you I will accomplish what Halbarad did not.»

The woman bowed her head, not looking at him in the eye if not for a brief moment. «I will, my lord.»

Aragorn's jaw clenched involuntarily, annoyed by that name. But he did not add more. He greeted Boromir with a last look, then he turned his back to the two and began the hunt. The Elf and Dwarf followed him without hesitation, excited from pursuit.

The medicine that she had prepared quickly relaxed the Man and his tense muscles. He drank till the last drop, aided by her because his arms were too numb to find the strength to move. In silence he let her medicate and bandage him, although he was contrary to that act of mercy. He had not asked to go on living, instead calling for the death! But perhaps the Halls of Mandos did not welcome the traitors, not even for a short period of time, so the Valar had decided to delay his end.

He fell into a dreamless sleep, thanks to the soothing beverage and his incredible fatigue, and he could not quantify the hours that elapsed since his awakening. He remembered only a few waking moments, when he felt someone shaking him to wake him up and make him drink that relaxing herbal tea, but nothing else. The first thought that he had when he opened his eyes was rather confused. He could not tell whether he was alive or dead, because he felt nothing whether pain or numbness. His gaze met the foliage moved by a slight breeze and some sunshine before sunset, which barely managed to kiss the ground of leaves on which he was lying. He remembered the trees of the Grey Forest, on the slopes of Mount Mindolluin, who he often visited in times of peace with his brother, on horseback and on foot. Faramir loved to tell stories about those magical places such as forests, songs read in the afternoons spent in the library, or heard from the mouth of Gandalf, and he would frequently interrupt him, because he was not interested in the stories elven, nor he could store all those foreign names, and he easily lose his train of thought. Ah, what patience his brother had to repeat everything again!

He smiled to think of Faramir, and he wondered how he was. He missed his little brother.

Then, with the speed and the roar of lightning, all the events of that day came to mind and he felt once again sink into guilt and shame. It was a horrible feeling, which frustrated him and choked him. Would he have never been free of that weight, or at least lightened a little?

A movement to his left caught his attention and he thought he would not survive that time to another attack of the Orcs. He had barely the strength to lift his arm, but not the one for wielding a sword and defend himself. Yet, he did not hear terrifying screams, nor the din of those heavy feet pounding the ground beneath their path. He saw the unknown figure who remembered before falling asleep; he remembered the blurred outline and four scratches that tortured her face. She had not talked in those moments of slumber, either before he went to sleep after that Aragorn was gone. She made fast and practical curative gestures, she had bandaged the wounds and covered him with his coat, so he would not get cold. Before he went to sleep, he remembered that she sat a few feet away from him, on a protruding and uncomfortable root, and there she had been mulling over something. He did not know her identity, but it was likely that he knew the Ranger.

The woman was aware of her awakening and leaned on him to touch his forehead. The fever was down, but not that much.

«How are you feeling? Can you breathe without any problems?»

Boromir nodded. It was amazing to think that until a few hours before he had an arrow in his body that had threatened to pierce a lung and now he could breathe without a moan in pain every time. It was still sore, but nothing was comparable to what he had felt in those moments. Also, he was not going to complain with a woman.

A woman!

He had lost the honor with the act of a fool against Frodo, and now that little dignity remained was trampled by the fact that a woman had saved his life. He, who had always refused treatment of Healers, who had medicated his own wounds alone, was now at the mercy of a woman.

«Move your legs and arms.»

A woman, who even now was giving him orders.

But he had not the physical or mental strength to point out that he was the man, not vice versa; moreover, she saved his life. He did not know whether to be happy to be able to continue to walk on the world or curse her for not leaving him to his fate, but for the moment he could only thank her.

He did as she had said, and he realized that he could move his limbs without any problems. He just felt infinitely tired from battle and blood lost, but he had no injuries so severe as to impair his movements.

She leaned down and listened for a few minutes, with her ear pressed to the ground, almost without a murmur. Then she went back to look at him. She had piercing gray eyes.

«I have to ask you the effort to move from here.» She said. «The ruins of the Seat of the View are not far away from here and they offer a better shelter than this. I do not feel the presence of other Orcs in this side of the river, but it is better to get away for the night. Anyone who has the audacity to approach, there would be seen with prior notice.»

The man was grateful that she had assumed that he would get up and to not having asked him if he could move, although that lack of tact might seem discourteous. He did not want to feel like a burden to carry as a bag of potatoes, nor he would have swallow easily that he could have been for real. He took, however, the hand she offered him and without a word she put his arm over her shoulders. Boromir wondered how many steps they could do before falling, him without strength and her overwhelmed by the weight of Man. But the woman was more reckless and stubborn than he thought and, slowly, they walked towards the ancient watchtower. The journey, though short, was not at all easy because of the ground went up and it was disposed by stones and roots, that slowed much their steps. But Boromir did not complain, except to curse on teeth when he stumbled and nearly fell down. Going over that stretch of forest reminded him his fight with Frodo and he could not restrain a tear of repentance with the same force with which he walked.

«Come on, we are almost there.»

The man looked up and saw the great Seat, majestic despite now unused and overwhelmed by the corrosion of time and nature. They passed the stone circle that closed the area, and after discarding a block carved fell during some storm, they were chafing under the seat, supported by four massive columns.

Boromir lay against one of them and there he remained, until the woman returned with his shield, the sword, and the Horn of Gondor, now split into two.

«I'm sorry it's broken.» She said, giving it back to him with caution.

Boromir let out a pained sigh, and stroked the instrument of war and glory that filled his heart with joy and his enemy with fear. «My father gave it to me when I reached the age of majority. And he in turn had inherited from my grandfather, Ecthelion II. And so on for centuries, from the Hunter Vorondil on, for twenty-eight generations. Ah, no more my people shall hear its sound. Even of this misfortune I got my hands dirty.»

«Do not despair for mere objects that can be rebuilt or repaired.»

«This mere object tells the story of Gondor, no one else can replace it.» he said annoyed.

«Even Narsil, the blade that was broken, saw new life in Andúril and it is now even sharper, from what I know.»

There was not a real reproach in those words, but Boromir was impressed anyway. He looked at the woman more closely and he noticed that she looked very much like Aragorn. And not for her short dark hair and gray eyes, rather for the pride that betrayed the respectful words spoken before. She seemed wise although young, and dressed in the manner of the Dúnedain, with a gray cloak held with a brooch in the shape of a star on her left shoulder. And then there was the mystery and horror of those scars on her face that had once been handsome, four deep scratches, which started in the left eye and sank to the opposite cheek, red, almost as if they had just healed. What creature could have imposed such a blow, spoiling her beauty?

«Who are you?» He asked.

The woman took his bow which she had on the shoulders and nocked an arrow. She stared at something beyond the circle of stones. Then she let go of the dart, that killed a rabbit. She spoke to him only when she returned with the animal in a bloody hand. «My name is Brethil, daughter of Aeglos, at your service.»

«Boromir son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, to yours. I owe you my life, lady Brethil, although in some ways I wish you have let me die.»

«I'm not a lady. And I could not let you die even if you had pleaded. I have a code of honor, Captain of the White Tower, as you have yours. And Aragorn's friends are also my friends.»

«So you know him.»

«Yes, even though he no longer knows me, now." She said almost in a whisper that the man did not hear. «We fought many battles together, up to the north.»

«Are you a descendant of Númenor?»

Brethil nodded.

Boromir settled back against the column, now determined to know something more about his savior, while she was skinning their dinner with an elven knife elven. He noted that she was well-armed, but the quiver on her back was half empty, a sign that she had had to fight before reaching him, too. A genuine question rose to his lips. «You are not happened in these hills by mistake, nor the sound of the horn has allowed to the nearest village to send relief. How did you find us?»

«The will of the Valars led me here, nothing else. I was in the Eastern Emnet and I have heard your call. The horses of Rohan know how to be very fast when you need of urgency.»

Boromir could not tell if her words were true or if she had missed something. It could not be just coincidence, nor he wanted to believe the story of the Valar, for he was firmly convinced that no man was a puppet in the hands of the gods. «Why would a woman have to be alone in a wasteland like that? At one time there were grazing their herds of the Rohirrim, now there are even those few and temporary villages of farmers.»

«I will not ask why you and Aragorn and the odd couple of friends were there. I would like you to do the same»

«Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you.»

«No offense.»

Brethil got up to look for a bit of firewood. They were at the top, in the middle of the trees, there was no danger that someone could see the flames of a small fire to cook a rabbit lean like that. While the meat was roasting, intoxicating the senses of a very hungry Boromir, the woman again prepared the tasty herbal tea and poultices for injuries. Very gently, she helped the man to strip the clothes higher, she disinfected the wounds with the _athelas_ and bandaged them again.

«They will cicatrize quickly, with this herb, but do not make any sudden movements in these early days, or they will reopen.» Brethil said. «You are a strong man, Boromir, son of Gondor. Many would have fallen after the first arrow.»

«I could not give up at the beginning. Not without having first tried.»

Brethil watched him carefully. «Tried what?»

«On saving the little ones.»

Boromir closed his eyes and thought back to the puzzled looks of Merry and Pippin when he fell on his knees, right in front of them. He could see the desperation in their eyes, the fear they could not do it and watch him die at their feet. But he was not supposed to fall, and not to save his life, but to save them. He had to defend them at any cost, going against Orcs, arrows, and death itself, as long as he had the strength, until he had a bit of air into the lungs.

«Your act was an honorable one.»

«But it will not erase the horrible act that I committed only moments before. If only I had not attacked Frodo...»

«Frodo?»

He opened his bright eyes and he remembered he had a stranger as interlocutor. He was forced not to say anything more, because he did not know whether she was aware of the Ring and their mission, although she seemed not. «A friend... a Hobbit. I tried to take by force something that does not belong to me. And I continue to crave it, despite everything.»

«But you have not gone beyond.»

«No, never.»

«Even this makes you honor, if it's any consolation. You were able to stop before it was too late.»

Boromir shook his head. «I stopped because I was caught off guard. I do not think I would be able to withdraw my hand, once it was stretched.»

«You acted like a Human, which has its weaknesses and its strengths. And you have demonstrated both.»

«You do not understand, you do not know what I felt! I could have... yes, I could have killed to have it for few moments.»

A terrible pain in his chest made him realize the wickedness of those words. And the shame came over him again, leading him to hide his face behind his hands, as if he could hide all the darkness that had invaded his heart. He felt such a disgust for himself, for the monster it had become. How could he dare to return to his home town? How could he live with a remorse so great, when the whole world would collapse because of him? If he had not been blinded by greed to defend his people by any means, maybe Frodo would not be left alone; he would still have the guidance of Aragorn and his shield to protect him, to a land where death and terror were invoked in every corner; Merry and Pippin would still cheered their heavy days with their placid and cheerful manners, and, to the detriment of what he kept saying from the moment of their departure, he would have accompanied the Holder up to Mount Doom, because destroing the Ring would have meant defend his beloved Gondor too. What a horrible person had he become?

Brethil could not tell what he was thinking, but she saw the anguish in his eyes, and she grabbed his arm. «Do not torture yourself for your sins. You can not undo what has been, but you have to take note and learn from your mistakes. Die, if that is what you would like in moments like these, it will deliver you from what you have done, indeed. Yours is a selfish desire.»

«What do you know, little girl? What do you know about mistakes that could change the lives of everyone? What do you know about the betrayal of people who have learned to love you as friends and brothers, who have trusted you to the point of putting their lives in your hands?»

«Unfortunately, I know a lot about mistakes like that, Man of Gondor; more than I've ever wanted. I am not without sin, and indeed, maybe what I once did it was a madness that will doom us all, just as you have risked. And I know what it means to betray a friend, to betray him so much to accept also his refusal, not to have to look in his eyes.»

Boromir mulled over those words in silence, watching the meat almost ready. «How did you overcome your guilt, whatever the crime you committed?»

The coldness in her reply was betrayed by upset gestures that followed that question. He saw her biting her lips several times in the throes of some kind of memories, and Boromir felt pity for that creature who, at the expense than he had imagined, had suffered and suffered as he was.

«I've never exceeded.» She admitted, bowing her head. «I should tell you that one day you will forget this dark moment of your life and that you will live with no thoughts whatsoever, because only time heals some wounds. Yet, I do not feel to lie to you, because I know what you are feeling. You will not forget, but you will live with the guilt, so that will become an uncomfortable habit. I do not know if it will vanish once everything will be fixed, if it will ever happen, but I just know that time can not erase, but cicatrize. A wound can not grieve more for years, but traces remain and you will surely remember. You just have to find the strength to live with them. This is the hardest part. But you are strong and you have not spotted something irreparable. I have seen it in these few hours, and you will know which way to go without entering the wrong one. Do not be like me, do not run away from it all. This is not the best way to tackle the problem, but it is a shortcut for cowards. You're not.»

«The scars of which you speak are...» The Man tried to guess, observing her battered face.

Brethil brought a hand to her face, touching one of those indelible grooves, and the bitter smile twisted her lips. «Some people can hide their sins through habit and time. But I have to show them to the sun, to feel less guilty. It is a small sentence that is not nothing compared to the loss of confidence of those you love, and I am ready to endure for the rest of my days. To hide behind a hood and a piece of fabric fell on my face would only serve to make me crawl in the shadows, like a shadow.»

There must have been a terrible secret behind those scars, something so painful that made him shiver. But what on earth could a woman like her make to take on all that damage? He wanted to know where those wounds came from, but as he would not have easily confessed what he had done to Frodo, so he never imagined that she would have found the courage to talk about it, if she had been forced.

It was the first break they allowed themselves since they had left from the hills of Amon Hen to pursue the Orcs and Uruk-hai who had taken the Hobbits into captivity, and the moon had risen already for several hours in the sky. They did not have much time to rest, because they knew well that the kidnappers did stop for a few moments for a quick meal - and most of the time turned out to be the flesh of one of them, who had dared to defy the orders and the whip of the leader. It was also probable that they had felt their presence at their heels, so they had to accelerate their already rapid march.

Legolas was the first to stand guard, as it was the Ranger who had to remain lucid and active to search for possible clues and traces on their path. They agreed on an hour of sleep each and the first to snore was the Dwarf, soon as he touched the ground with his head. Aragorn, despite the physical exhaustion, had too many thoughts that prevented him to rest. That was the more heavy and hard day that he had to deal with after the fall of Gandalf at Khazad-Dûm. From that moment on, he had to take the command of the company, he had to guide them through the dangers that hid that path, but he had no idea what Gandalf had in mind once they left the mines of Moria, nor he had clear what road would have to face. The days spent in Lothlorien were served to find peace of mind and reason in a familiar place and well protected, but despite the acceptance of the Elves and advice enigmatic Lady Galadriel, he still had serious doubts about how he should act. On the one hand he wanted to follow Boromir to Minas Tirith to prepare for the imminent war and defend his town; on the other side he could not leave Frodo the arduous task of carrying that burden alone and without his leadership, although no constraint oath would tie him to the fate of the Hobbit. When the situation was precipitated, Aragorn had not had the time to hesitate further. He had to let Frodo go on his way, he had decided to leave the company after the attempted betrayal of Boromir, and the only thought that was reassured him that Sam was with him. Dear Sam, he could not find a better guide than faithful and devoted friend like him. Then Meriadoc and Peregrin had been captured by the Orcs of Saruman, probably thinking that one or the other had the Ring of Power, and Boromir had risked his own life to defend them, recovering his honor.

Boromir. Man's thinking was his torment now. Not Frodo and the Ring, not Merry and Pippin who would achieved at the cost of not walking for the rest of his life, but Boromir. He had seen torture in dark thoughts since the One had started talking to him, infusing those evil voices in his head already too crowded of concerns; he had fought bravely until that moment of weakness and he was almost killed to have extended his hand.

He would not wanted to leave him behind, not during that delicate moment as the rope stretched to the limit of endurance. He needed a friend to confide in, one to tell his fears to take off the burden of suffering and guilt that he decided to take on. But Aragorn knew that his task now was to focus on the Hobbits, which were so dear to both, and he promised him that they would be found alive. He could not become a perjurer, even at the cost of dying in the enterprise.

And then the unexpected happened, even more surprising trouble of that long and tiring day. He was able to fight off hordes of Orcs, finally choose which direction to follow from that moment forward, but he was not ready to face her. That woman brought back part of his past, part of the life of Ranger who had lived in the shadows before revealing himself for what she really was. It reminded him of happy events, yet unpleasant, so distant in time and yet still so vivid to hurt him.

Aragorn turned on the other side, impatient.

«This should be the moment of rest, Aragorn. Not of the sorrow.»

The Man sat down, in a heavy sigh. «I will not find neither rest nor peace until my concerns will not be dissipated at least in part.»

«You're worried about Boromir, right? Fear not, it seems to me that we left him in good hands.» Legolas said. «But I wonder who that woman is, Aragorn? I thought I saw hostility in your ways, and yet you did not hesitate to leave in her hands the life of our friend.»

«It's true, I'm afraid for his life, but I do not fear the arrows that hit him. That woman knows how to heal wounds even more serious and I taught her myself how to do it.»

«The Ring is far away from us and from him, it is no longer a danger.»

«But though its effect will not fade away easily. Him more than all of us has been plagued by bad and it will take many years before it can get rid of the temptation and the hope to see it back, one day.»

«I understand your concerns, but do not evade my questions, Aragorn.» The Elf said, smiling.

The Ranger gave a quick look at Gimli, fast asleep, seemingly careless of their talk. «You wonder who she is, but you should remember her.» Aragorn said. «However, maybe just your father and some other of thy seed knows her. She was a trusted friend, second only to Halbarad for affection.»

«He was?»

Aragorn's eyes narrowed, bringing to mind the events that he thought he had removed lightly, albeit with great difficulty at the beginning. «Believe me, Legolas, when I tell you that you hardly can recognize a person when she lets you down beyond measure.»

«There is pain in your words and in your eyes, as I saw shame in hers. Of what mistake and disappointment do you speak, that does not deserve your trust anymore?»

«She is stained with treason. I am still wondering what drove her to do what she did, but I can not find an answer.» Aragorn said. «More than twelve months have elapsed since our goodbye and I have never seen her again. I do not know for what strange twist of fate she is back, just when I needed her most.»

Legolas smiled. «Perhaps she has heard your anguish, because there is still a thread that binds you, and that has allowed her to find you.»

Yes, maybe. Seeing her again was a great comfort but immense pain. He had been fighting between the urge to hug her like he used to and to drive her away. She was there, in front of him, to help him, as she always did by appearing at his side even when he had no need to call her. But he could not forget nor forgive her so easily, even after all that time; since the consequences of what she did were on Middle-Earth future, and above all, the fate of the Ring-bearer.

«Aragorn, now rest.» Legolas said. «And do not torment yourself also for her history. Boromir has equally wrong, and yet we all decided to forgive him, because there is nothing to blame for what he did. Or should we scold him for being too Human? You'll have the time and the way to understand her reasons and only then you can condemn her or forget her mistakes.»

The Ranger nodded, lying and watching the stars. Then he closed his eyes and finally fell asleep.


End file.
